


Majuscule

by zarahjoyce



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: AU, Canon Era, F/M, Gen, after months!!!, idk - Freeform, jumping back to Jonsa, other tags will come as we go along, text fic
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-02-04
Updated: 2020-02-19
Packaged: 2021-02-28 02:54:03
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 1,944
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22556626
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/zarahjoyce/pseuds/zarahjoyce
Summary: "There Sansa was, dirt-stricken, windswept, and disheveled, and yet the very sight of her effectively renders him speechless –--dumbstruck."Jon and Sansa, from A - Z.
Relationships: Jon Snow/Sansa Stark
Comments: 17
Kudos: 66





	1. Chapter 1

**_#1 Animated_ **

Theon nudges Jon rather roughly at the ribs and whispers madly, “Dude. _Chill_. Don’t let Sans fucking see how disgusting you are, Jesus fuck.”

Jon clears his throat and straightens, hoping against hope that Sansa didn’t actually _see_ him practically drooling after her.

**_#2 Belated_ **

Idk what do you think I should give him for his bday tho???

get naked oil yourself up and knock on his door in the middle of the night duhhh???

A R Y A !!!!!

I’ll get the oil, ur fucking welcome~

**_#3 Conceited_ **

“You have a beautiful home, Jon,” Daenerys says.

Jon turns away from her and smirks. _Sansa. It’s all because of Sansa._

“Thank you,” he replies instead, taking care to sound as toneless - and unaffected - as he is able.

**_#4 Demeanor_ **

“You know, it’s possible Robb won’t _actually_ kill you.”

“It’s also possible that he will. Once he finds out about us—“

“Relax, okay? I’ll just—think of a way to deliver the news to him that won’t end up in your murder. Or in general bloodbath. Or… you know, your guts on the floor, your head hanging by the skin of your neck--”

“Great. Thanks. That’s… great, thanks.”

**_#5 Effulgent_ **

For one moment, Jon realizes he has almost forgotten _how_ to breathe.

There Sansa was, dirt-stricken, windswept, and disheveled, and yet the very sight of her effectively renders him speechless-–

_\--dumbstruck._

He takes one step, two steps, three, and soon she’s flying towards him and he's opened his arms to her and--

_\--welcome home._


	2. Chapter 2

**_#6 Frosting_ **

“—I feel like there’s something missing but I don’t know what so you _have_ to help me.”

Jon tries to keep the smile off his face lest she accuses him of laughing at her expense. Instead, he raises a brow at the bowl of cream she’s mixing. “Okay, but you _have_ to taste it first.”

“I didn’t put poison in it or anything,” she mutters mutinously, but dips her finger in the bowl and brings it to her mouth anyway – before grimacing.

He silently counts to three, and before she can do anything else Jon pulls her towards him – and kisses her rather thoroughly.

“Tastes good,” he says afterwards.

**_#7 Gait_ **

“I don’t need help, all right? My foot is _fine._ Just—stay there Jon, no need to—no, _no_ I said—“

Arya rolls her eyes and stabs a piece of meat on her plate before shoving it in and chewing it petulantly.

“Jon—Jon _no!_ Put me down this instant! You will _not—“_

She turns to the source of the ruckus in time to see Jon about to exit the hall, all the while carrying a furiously blushing Sansa in his arms. He nods at Arya before leaving altogether - presumably heading towards Sansa’s chambers - with the Lady of Winterfell fighting tooth and nail every step of the way.

Arya rolls her eyes again.

_Just get fucking married already!_

**_#8 Heaven_ **

The message comes to her in the form of a raven; a hastily written scrawl on parchment that made Sansa squint while trying to decipher it.

And when she did, her blood runs cold.

_It is with great sorrow that we inform the Queen in the North of the passing of Jon Snow, The King Beyond the Wall._

_In the end, he thought of you._

**_#9 Image_ **

**Jon:** Are you going to tell me more about her or should I just trust your judgment and nope the fuck out?

 **Theon:** THE BLATANT DISRESPECT HDU

 **Jon:** Can’t blame me, all right? The last three blind dates you’ve set me up with had been… well I wouldn’t want to say horrible but

 **Theon:** Okay so first of all, it’s not my fault that you’re not into blondes?

 **Theon:** Second of all

 **Theon:** wait no that’s my only defense, carry on

 **Theon:** ANYWAY LET ME RECTIFY THIS SHIT ALL RIGHT? JUST TRUST ME. I’M NOT GONNA BE DROPPING HINTS OR NAMES OR ANYTHING BUT KNOW THAT SHE’S FIGURATIVELY ON FIRE. Because of her hair. AND SHE’S LITERALLY SANS FLAW. Because of her name.

 **Theon:** Wait fuck it those are dead giveaways aren’t they

 **Theon:** Jon?

 **Theon:** JON?

 **Theon:** SO I’M ASSUMING YOUR SILENCE MEANS YOU’RE GOING, RIGHT? BECAUSE YOU’LL BE MEETING SANSA STARK HOW THE FUCK CAN YOU NOT GO???

 **Theon:** JONNNNNNNNN?

**_#10 Jagged_ **

If worse comes to worst, Sansa thinks, they may just _have_ to fight a war in order to bring home their point that Jon is to come back to the North with her, with _them—_

\--at _any_ cost.

She feels the dagger hidden in her skirts and eyes the Unsullied beside Tyrion with some disdain.

_Just stick them with the pointy end._


	3. Chapter 3

**#11 Kept**

"It's-- it's too big. I--I don't think it can fit in mine."  
  
" _Squeeze_ it hard, Sans. I swear it's okay. It's your first time, of course you're nervous. Look, just put your hands on it-- like this--"  
  
 _What the bloody fuck?_ Robb stares at the door with quietly erupting horror. _What the fuck are they doing back there?_  
  
"But it's-- _bulging_. What if I squeeze it too hard-- and, you know, it spills--"  
  
"Wanna lick it?"  
  
"Can I?"  
  
 _All right that's_ fucking _it!  
  
_ Robb pushes the door open with all his might, expecting to see something unimaginable - except he actually sees--  
  
"Robb, hey." Sansa smiles at him, hands wrapped around a big piping tube. "Want some cake?"  
  
"It'll have to be served _after_ the frosting's done, though," Jon says, his arms crossed. "That is, _if_ Sansa can actually finish hers sometime this century."  
  
She sticks her tongue out at him, making Jon laugh.   
  
Meanwhile, Robb's thought process ceases altogether.  
  
"Ummmmm---"   
  
  


**#12 Liaison**

"You'll like her," Dany tells him, a smile on her face. "She's from up North - like you."  
  
Jon grimaces. "I didn't know liking someone is a prerequisite to this whole surrogacy arrangement."  
  
"I thought it'd be easier," she replies blithely. "After all, she'll be carrying _your_ child."  
  
He doesn't say anything, merely walks behind Dany as she leads them to the foyer - and there stood--  
  
"Sansa Stark," his wife says loudly, making him pause and look up from the floor because did she just--  
  
 _\--fuck!_  
  
"Hello," Sansa Stark says, looking at them - at _him_ \- like she was a stranger to them both.  
  
Like she hadn't broken his heart--

\--and left him half-dead three fucking years ago.  
  
  


**#13 Minute**

Two minutes to midnight finds Sansa nursing a half-empty glass of wine, feeling the pulsing music up to her ears, and _maybe_ a quarter of a third on the way to drunkenness, by her own estimation.  
  
It's almost New Year and she's achingly _single_ because Joffrey found it in his tiny balls to actually _let_ her catch him cheating on her, that fucking _turd_.   
  
As consequence, she has no one to kiss tonight whereas Robb has Margaery, Arya has Gendry, and even Brienne has Jaime and here she was, just sad and single and stupidly-- _  
  
_"Sansa?"  
  
 _Ten!_  
  
She blinks at him. Oh hey look it's-- "Jon?"  
  
 _Eight!_

"Are you okay?" He looks so worried about her. _Aw._  
  
 _Six!  
  
_ And, right then and there, Sansa makes a semi-intelligent decision.  
  
 _Four!  
  
_ "I'm kissing _you_ , Jon!" she declares, wrapping her arms around him.  
  
 _"--what?"  
  
_ _Three! Two! One!  
_

**#14 Nerves**

Harry Hardyng has never feared anything - or _anyone -_ and he's quite intent on keeping things that way, thank you.  
  
So when he got the brilliant idea to ask Sansa Stark out for prom, he ignored the warnings of his friends to be careful especially around Robb Stark, who was known to be _so_ protective of his beautiful sister.  
  
He already got around that obstacle by actually _befriending_ that stupid oaf. And now, he has nothing to worry about. Not on prom night.  
  
Nope, nothing at all.  
  
He pressed the doorbell, hoping against hope that Sansa's the one to answer it because they're already running late and--  
  
The door opens, and out comes a boy - no, a _man_ \- with the darkest, most piercing eyes and the ugliest scowl Harry had _ever_ seen.  
  
"I'm--" Harry cleared his throat, hating how closed it felt all of a sudden. "--uh. Here for S-Sansa Stark?"  
  
The man's expression tightens, making Harry feel like he'd said the worst thing _ever_ imaginable and, well, like--  
  
 _\--shit!_  
  
  


**#15 Opaque**

She looks so peaceful, Jon thinks, dragging a finger down her cheek and watching as she burrows deeper to his side in response to his touch.  
  
 _Gods._ It would have been easy - _so_ easy - to pretend that _everything_ was fine, that he's merely a simple husband head over heels in love with his beautiful wife--  
  
"Aegon?" Sansa murmurs, eyes still closed.  
  
Jon swallows.  
  
 _Aegon's not here, my love.  
  
He never was._  
  
"Sleep, Sansa," he whispers, savoring the warmth of her skin next to his. "Everything's all right."  
  
Except _nothing_ is.  
  
Aegon Targaryen has been dead for quite some time now--  
  
\--but his wife doesn't need to know that.  
  
Yet.


	4. Chapter 4

**#16 Perennial**

“--And I swear you look _so_ familiar, but--” Sansa tucks her hair behind her ear. “I just can’t place it.” 

Jon smiles at her and quietly wonders if he’ll ever get tired of _this_ \- of waiting for her to remember who he is in her life--

\-- and of what she’ll forever mean, in his own. 

_Perhaps not,_ he thinks, drinking in the sight of her.

“Don’t worry,” he replies. “I’ll help you remember.”

_Always._

**#17 Quiver**

“I’m n-not afraid of you,” she says, looking this way and that, searching for the elusive creature they call ‘Beast’ who resides within this dilapidated castle. “ _Please._ I’m only here for my father--”

She hears a rumbling of branches somewhere to her left. Sansa squints, trying to get a glimpse of movement--

\--and suddenly there he was, looking ferocious and feral and _mad._

“You’re not afraid?” he asks, voice guttural and low. 

He steps closer, grasping her by the arm - making her gasp.

He looks-- dear god he looks--

“How about _now?_ ” he snarls.

**#18 Remote**

The first day wasn’t that hard.

The third day was a cinch.

The fifth day was kind of difficult, but she surpassed it.

She also survived the sixth day. 

But the seventh day rolled in and her hands began itching; she really, _really_ just needed to hear his voice and--

Her own phone rang, making her jump. “Hello?”

“I miss you,” he told her quietly. “I know this makes me a loser but… I just. Missed you. A lot.”

She smiled. At least _she’s_ not the one who gave in, this time.

“Let’s… not do this stupid no-call challenge of Arya’s _ever_ again. Deal?”

“Deal.”

**#19 Salt**

For some moments, Jon is rendered unable to speak. Perhaps _this_ is the will of the people of the North but--

“I _can’t_ marry Sansa,” he says after some time. 

“Because she’s your cousin?” Davos asks, point-blank.

Jon blinks at him - and appears as though the thought had _never_ crossed his mind.

“What if--” Here he looks pained. “What if she doesn’t want to marry?” And adds quietly, “Me.”

Davos rubs his chin. “Have you ever asked her?”

“No,” Jon replies gruffly. “I can’t-- I can’t--”

  
  


**#20 Triumph**

At that point, Sansa enters the room. She nods at Davos in acknowledgement before turning her attention to her befuddled cousin.

“Perhaps you _should_ , Jon,” she says primly.

Jon frowns. “I should--?”

“Ask.”

Davos clears his throat - and leaves the room without another word. 

Jon waits for him to close the door before approaching her and taking her hand in his. “Sansa--”

“It’s for the North.” She squeezes his hand. 

He sighs.

And lifts her hand to kiss the back of it.

“For the North, then.”


End file.
